I sat in the woods, listening to the roar of the river, watching as animals hurried to gather enough food for winter. The trees above me shed their many colored leaves: blood red, sunset yellow, tangerine orange, indicating the start of winter. They formed a halo above my head, catching the sunlight beautifully with my golden blonde hair.
I love nature. I love the way of life, the chatter among animals. I love how the trees sway in the wind, almost as if they were dancing.
Every week, my parents would pack me a lunch, and let me explore the woods for a day. I’ve found bear caves, beaver dams, and so much magical places where I can just escape the rush of the city; I can forget all my worries. My parents always expect me to come well after sunset.
I love nature as one of my favorite things in the world.
But I love dancing more.
Ever since a little girl, I’ve always been obsessed with dancing. I never took any proper lessons, but I have always had a talent for it.
Whenever I dance, I feel the rhythm of the beat, and before I know it, I’m dancing.
I dance whenever I can: when I’m waltzing down to breakfast, twirling to school, or tapping to the beat when I’m doing homework. Dance is I; I am dance.
Today, I forgot where I was. The setting was perfect; the soft glow of the disappearing sun, the endless shine of the full moon, fireflies dancing in the air. I was heading home, when I felt the irresistible urge to dance, to be free.
I don’t know how long I spent in the woods that time, but I certainly spent longer than normal, endlessly dancing, never wavering to the imaginary beat. It was only when I heard my parents’ voices ringing through the woods that I knew my time was done.
I immediately stopped, grabbed my things, and ran, ran away from the autumn magic.
Ran away from my life.
